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For Love of You 



Author of "The Bald Knobbers," Etc. 



INDIANAPOLIS: 

B. F. BOWEN & COMPANY 
1909 






Copyright, 1908, 
By Clyde Edwin Tuck. 



S^eceived from 
Copyright Offlc©. 
JAN 22 1910 



II 



o1 



CONTENTS. 

Dedication 5 

The Magic Night 6 

Angenette • • • • ' 

Avowal ° 

Hawthorn Blossoms 

The Light of Other Days H 

Love's Envoys 12 

Wood Witchery 13 

When I Need You Most 15 

The Two Rivers . 1^ 

After All ... 1^ 

Wanderlust 20 

The Vandal 22 

When Summer Died 23 

Love's Tragedy ^^ 

The Message of the Rose 27 

On Such a Night 28 

T . . 30 

June 

September in the Ozarks ^1 

When You Came Home .33 

Juanita 

To My Mother 36 

Sunshine Follows Rain 37 

Before We Met 39 

To a Butterfly in the City .40 

Loss ^^ 



August 42 

Satisfied 43 

A Rose From Corinth 44 

Slower Music for the Soldiers 46 

The Call of April 48 

Greed 49 

It Is Best 50 

Mutation 52 

Two Dreams 56 

You and October 58 

Out by the River .... 60 

Parting Words 61 

Just to Be Near You 62 

Helen Hunt Jackson's Grave 63 

February in the Cascades 65 

The Past 66 

The Poor Child's Christmas .68 

On the Ohio River 70 

In the Valley of the Years 72 

Since I Lost You 74 

To Wah-Ta-Waso 75 

Our Loved and Lost 76 

If You Could Understand 78 

Longing 79 

The Sweetest Thought 81 

Forgotten 83 

All in the End Will Be Right 85 

L'envoi 87 



For love of you, for love of you 
My heart and I will ever woo; 
For love of you these songs I sing — 
// but one w^ord of praise they bring 
From you, Fll ask the world for none — 
The fame I sought I shall have zuon. 

For love of you I zvould forego 

All power and wealth that life can know; 

For love of you go I in quest 

No more of Siren Isles of rest; — 

/ vowed to halt not, neither fail 

In search of love — life's Holy Grail 

You bring to me life's Golden Fleece, 
The cup of days -filled with sweet peace, 
A perfumed waft from Cyclades 
And silken sails front opal seas, 
The songs of nightingales, in dreams, 
And poppy fields and summer streams. 

The moaning sea, so old and gray. 
The sigh breathed by the vernal May, 
The babble of each brook that flows. 
The passion of the velvet rose, 
The sorrozi* of Night's tears — the dezv^, 
I understand since loving you. 

For they, without the love of you. 
So good, so beautiful and true. 
Are restless as the sands of time — 
They feel a loss they seek to rhyme. 
While I, who dzoell but in your heart, 
Am wed to joy — we cannot part! 



THE MAGIC NIGHT. 

Last night, dear heart, when pilgrim stars were roving 

Adown the saffron pathways of the west. 
And flocks of silent birds were homeward flying. 

When weary children turned from play to rest. 
Then, as the Star of Love her beams was flinging 

In rare enchantment earthward, far and wide, 
With burning soul I sought your arms, well knowing 

The world for me held nothing else beside. 

Their soothing canticles the streams were crooning — 

They caught and held the red west's parting blush, 
And in your eyes the light of stars was mirrored. 

While I, enraptured, felt the blood's wild rush 
To meet and melt into love's sweetest blisses. 

Close, close to your rose-petaled mouth; — I knew 
The depth of each new thought, although unspoken. 

While life, for me, dear heart, held only you. 

As Night, the tender nurse, her sweet dreams gathered 

To gently touch the eyelids of the world, 
I wondered if beyond the fields of star-land 

Was any fairer vision e'er unfurled; 
Could realms above hold anything that's dearer — 

More subtly tender than your soulful eyes, 
Or vaguely sweet than your low sighs, love breathing? 

Such inwound notes change earth to paradise. 



ANGENETTE. 

How went the world with me before we met? 

No wonder that my songs were sometimes sad 
Before I saw your bright eyes, Angenette: 

Until your cheery face made all things glad, 
Sometimes adown the ways of care I'd roam. 

Sometimes I'd wander in the vale of tears; 
But now all griefs fade like the ocean foam. 

And now I feel the touch of jocund years. 

My path of life with heart's-ease is thick set. 

And bird-mirth greets me all the rose-bloomed way; 
Since I found you, fair, thoughtful Angenette, 

Across my bright world blows the breath of May: 
My veins are filled with life's red nectared wine ; 

I care not how the seasons come and go^ — 
Why should this buoyant, joy-pierced heart of mine 

Approach the aisles of icy night and snow? 

I loved the orchis, the frail mignonette. 

And all the blossoms that my childhood knew, 
But they to me are sweeter, Angenette, 

And dearer to my heart since loving you; 
The ichor of the springtime's in the earth, 

Which riots through the veins of ancient hills 
And brings to sordid bosoms a re-birth 

Of love celestial, and joy's cup re-fills. 



AVOWAL. 

Satiety once came and said to me 

When I was sad from being satisfied: 
"You from your self and those you love must flee, 

Must steel your heart until the founts are dried 
From whence emotion's waves arise and flow; 

Must stifle love's convictions and control 
The passions in their onward sweep; must show 

The world an arching lip, a frozen soul." 

*Twas then I went away from you and home. 

And sought the boundless reach of ocean's blue; 
Climbed mountains strange to their ethereal dome. 

And stood where alien cities rose to view; 
I went in search of Circe's isle to find 

A better, sweeter, grander thing than love; 
A boon of rest for the o'erlabored mind. 

And sought for peace from skies of bliss above. 

I felt you near at morn, at evening's close — 

You looked at me from out the pansy's eyes ; 
Your lips were held by each red velvet rose; 

From soft caressing winds I caught your sighs — 
Your voice was in the lark's sweet rhapsody, 

Your face was in the dimpling sun-kissed streams — 
Where e'er I turned your presence seemed to be — 

You were the guiding angel of my dreams. 



With my own heart I fought a bitter fight, 

But it was stronger even than I knew; 
I tried to bury love, far out of sight ; 

It would not die, but deeper, stronger grew; 
My soul was dark, was blind as sightless Chance, 

Till back it came from out the night of strife, 
Awakened from its mad, phantasmal trance — 

Back to your arms again, my love, my life ! 

You bring me the cup of brimming May; 

Without you all the world to discord runs; 
My soul is void of light when you're away — 

It sickens like the plant that daylight shuns. 
My heart longs for the love that serves and sings, 

Comes back from cheerless climes to skies of blue ; 
Responsive to your touch are all its strings — 

It aches and breaks without the love of you! 



•HAWTHORN BLOSSOMS. 

Spring roams to-day 'neath beryl skies; 

The earth shouts with returning breath; 
The daisy opes its wond'ring eyes — 

The world holds naught that speaks of death, 
For life thrills through the veins of earth 

Wooed by the sun, a lover bold, 
Which brings the dandelion's birth — 

A bridal pledge of rarest gold. 

Shell-tinted apple blossoms lay 

Upon the orchard's carpet green; 
Brook banks are decked with diamond spray; 

Long willow tresses o'er them lean. 
Swayed by the dreamy airs that bring 

Strange drafts of sweetest hydromel 
From vales where purple violets spring, 

The crocus and the asphodel. 

So tender, vaguely strange, and white 

The hawthorn blossoms on the hill 
Shake out their petals over night, 

When calls the first wild whip-poor-will: 
They come in robes of whiteness pure. 

So like a soul's sweet, keen surprise. 
With feelings timid, insecure, — 

As first it wakes in Paradise. 



10 



THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS. 

'Round an old harp whose thrilling tones have fled 
When all its silver strings are broke in twain, 

There linger subtle symphonies long shed, 
Which oft we fancy we can hear again. 

So when the light of other days returns 
With all the dream-delight of you and June, 

I gather love's full aftermath, for burns 

The old flame still as in that rapture-swoon. 

You tried in vain to teach my constant heart 
Forgetfulness of you and those dear years; 

Although our lives have drifted far apart 
I long for you in silence and in tears. 

Time has taught patience at a bitter cost, 

For mute in throes of life's delight and pain. 

With new love near I mourn the old love lost; 
O, cruel Time, bring back those days again! 

Past is the royal pageant of those hours 
When from love's cup I quaffed the anodyne; 

E'en if 'twas winter otherwhere, the flowers 
Forgot their sleep of death when you were mine. 

Afar the onward-luring heights would loom 
That now mist-garmented are lost to view; 

The dead red blossoms of the years would bloom — 
Return their attar-sweet delights with you. 



11 



LOVE'S ENVOYS. 

I whisper to the flowers a burning tale, 

The love my ardent heart would tell to you; 

Perchance their intercession will prevail — 
I know full well they'll bear the message true. 

The hyacinth has been my friend of old. 

The briar-rose I've loved through many springs; 

For me the jonquil lifts its cup of gold. 
And dandelions spread their fleecy wings. 

So when the one I love comes by your way, 

Fair blooms vermilion, pink, and gold and blue, 

My perfumed envoys all the summer's day. 

Will breathe my passion forth — the love of you. 



12 



WOOD WITCHERY. 

While the sun shines on the clover, 

Ere the days of youth are over, 
And old age, all bent and weary, comes along. 

Let's clasp hands and go a-Maying, 

Through the orchard lands go straying. 
Through the mild, aromic labyrinth of song. 

While our hearts are warm and cheery. 

To the haunts of lark and veery. 
Love, let's seek the harmony each warbler knows; 

Where the sylvan lyrists meet you — 

With impassioned strains they greet you. 
Where each sportive breeze a harp eolian blows. 

Where the sunbeams filter through 

Cedars green and spruces blue. 
And the mountain rill in trebles hurries by; 

Where the wild hops' drooping tresses 

Seek it, with silk-soft caresses, 
Out to catch the warmth and blueness of the sky. 

Down the wood-path let us follow. 

Over hill and dale and hollow. 
Where unrolls a mossy carpet 'neath the pine. 

And our hearts will surely capture 

Something of the peace and rapture 
That the wildwoods offer to your soul and mine. 



13 



Why not join the romp and revel 
On the brook bank, green and level, 

With the denizens of forest and of plain, 
Ere the autumn leaves are falling, 
And the birds, no longer calling, 

Leave to ice and snow the windy hills again? 

Come while life and hope invite us; 

Woods and meads will all requite us; 
Leave the cold heart of the city for awhile, 

Leave its noises and its folly 

For the mountain pink and holly. 
And our hearts in Nature's witchery beguile. 



14 



WHEN I NEED YOU MOST. 

When Nature's heart is wooed and won by June, 
Rare rhapsodies proclaim that earth's in tune 

To lavishly receive her royal host, 
Fair Princess Summer, in her robes of green; 
Then 'mid such wondrous beauty and such sheen 

Is not the time, my dear, I need you most. 

But when the earth is cold and dull and dead, 
When flowers are gone and skies gray overhead, 

When not a song is heard or far or near. 
Then is the time when, by the hearth alone, 
I cherish you the most, my love, my own — 

You fill such days with sunshine and sweet cheer. 

When jostled in the marts of men all day, 
And hurried on by throngs on pleasure's way. 

With fevered brow from toil and dust and heat, 
In striving for a place of wealth, of fame. 
It is not then that I repeat your name 

And sigh and long for you the most, my sweet! 

But when the busy, weary day is o'er. 

When jangled notes of trade are heard no more, 

And stars begin to bloom in heaven's blue; 
'Tis then I long for home with all its rest, 
'Tis then I yearn to clasp you to my breast — 

'Tis then the world for me holds — only you. 



15 



When life is filled with youth's bright, sanguine dreams, 
When in the noon of years the sunshine streams 

On all the world, and hope and strength are mine. 
Oh, then I do not need you most, my pet ; 
When life's smooth path with roses is thick set 

It is not then that for you most I pine! 

But when I hear strange voices call to me 
To lure me out to worlds beyond time's sea — 

When I am failing on life's outmost coast, 
I'll want your gentle arms around me then ; 
When I shall leave the fields, the homes of men, 

Then is the time when I will need you most. 



16 



THE TWO RIVERS. 

I stood on the bank of a river 
As it rolled on in freedom below; 

Broad leaves dipping down in its eddies 
Flashed linings as white as new snow; 

The ivy swayed low o'er its bosom 

From banks where the wild roses blow. 

I watched the foam-flakes that came whirling 
And passed out of sight on the stream; 

And the picture was evermore changing — 
As varied and strange as a dream; 

Out yonder were dark shadows drifting. 
And here was the sunshine's bright gleam. 

Time's river is thus ever flowing, 
Ever changing in volume and hue — 

Is as treacherous, varied and reckless; 
It reflects both the gray skies and blue; 

On its banks are the primroses blooming. 
But the wild thorn is there for us, too. 

Its eddies swirl onward forever. 
All heedless of tears that we shed. 

While bearing away on its current 

Life's pleasures, oft seen not till fled; 

It robs us of youth's sweetest music, 
And leaves but an echo instead. 



17 



As the roar and the rush of the river 
Will cease when it reaches the sea. 

And whatever it bears on its bosom 
At last will find rest and be free, 

So the river of Time will be silenced 
In the sea of the mystic To Be. 



18 



AFTER ALL. 

It's a pretty good world after all, my dear. 

It's a pretty good world after all, 
Though sometimes we sigh, and sometimes we sneer, 

And sometimes we sip of the gall; 
Though often its discords may cost us a tear 

And oft in the darkness we fall. 

It's a pretty good world after all, my love, 

It's a pretty good world, I say, 
Though stars are not always in blue skies above, 

Nor earth always fair as in May; 
But I know your heart, dear, is like that of the dove. 

So sunshine is 'round me alway. 

It's a pretty good world after all, my pet, 

It's a pretty good world, I know, 
Though there are some things we must need forget. 

And some that are but a false show; 
While youth's fondest hopes oft arise but to set — 

There are paths where the thorns do not grow. 

It's a pretty good world after all, my sweet, 

It's a pretty good world and true — 
To the hearts where true love ever finds a retreat. 

And it gives with it happiness, too; 
In mine the spring lingers which makes it repeat 

The joy that it knows, love, for you. 



19 



WANDERLUST. 

Oh, give me the life that the wanderer knows! 
I long for the tang of the sea-wind that blows 
From its tropical isles or the wild waste of snows, 

A waft from Sahara or vine banks of Rhine; 
I sigh for the splendor in lands of the sun, 
To feel the heart-beats of the rivers that run 
From the peaks' airy crest, 'neath the big boulders dun — 

They are waiting with gladness for hearts that repine! 

For the sea and the river, the mountain and sky, 

Give me of their life as I'm wandering by; 

They give me their dreams and they drown every sigh, 

Because I have trusted them, found they are fair; 
I yield myself up to the keen, brave delight. 
To the free swinging waves, to the eagle's high flight ; 
I yield to the deep, mighty soul of the night. 

And the great holy stars lay their rich bosoms bare. 

I know that the meadows and woodlands are gay; 

Their voices are calling to lure me away 

Far out where the wild birds are singing each day 

To verdant fields running all riot in bloom: 
Come, loosen the leashes that bind me so fast. 
For the voice of the Wanderlust speaks in the blast 
That sweeps the gray hills and the brown prairies vast — 

It makes my heart leap to be free ere its doom ! 



20 



Oh, give me to ramble the wide earth once more, 
And give me to roam by the ocean's lone shore, 
The shock of the storm and the mad billows' roar. 

By lands that are far, and the swift cleaving ships; 
That I may know gusts of sweet laughter and tears, 
Before I shall fail 'neath the frosts of the years. 
Ere my heart is made sodden with grief's blighting 
fears, 

And the cup of youth's wine turns to gall on my lips! 



21 



THE VANDAL. 

Long dwelt we in love's tropics, bright and vast — 
Hearts could not know on earth a sweeter clime, 

Where royal pageants of the hours filed past 
Our blissful, sunny Arcady sublime. 

Nor cared we for fair kingdoms otherwhere — 
Our only world was in each other's eyes; 

Gone were the days of winter from life's year. 
No darkling shadows marred our ardent skies, 

Until, without a warning, one drear day. 

Our kingdom was invaded by a foe, 
The Vandal, Jealousy, swept all away. 

And Love, the King, died in the overthrow. 



22 



WHEN SUMMER DIED. 

When Summer died and Autumn's steps were heard 

Approaching in the sear and stilly vale, 
Faint were the notes of each departing bird — 

Some flower perished in each wanton gale; 
The yellow maples blazed upon the hills 

In gold from wooing sunbeams they had won, 
But gave in turn their treasures to the rills 

Who laughed to bear away each galleon. 

When Summer died the red leaves drifted down 

And spread a gorgeous carpet in the glen; 
A rasping sound came from the cornfields brown, 

A softer voice arose from woodlands then; 
A thousand drowsy insects droned their lays; 

The forest grieved with noiseless, fiery tears, 
For fair Queen Summer dead, whose shroud of haze 

Spread from the brow the distant mountain rears. 

When Summer died along the blue-rimmed world 

A chill breeze swept the last pale rose away, 
Our fondly cherished hopes afar were hurled 

By bleaker, sadder winds that fatal day; 
She looked out past the purple sunset skies — 

We saw her beckon with a lily hand; 
The tender light went out from her bright eyes. 

And Summer died along the darkling land. 



23 



LOVE'S TRAGEDY. 

They say we seldom wed those we first love, 
Those we love best in all the wide, wide land; 

That hearts are linked and sealed in heaven above; 
But there are things we cannot understand. 

One of the mysteries to me unknown, 

One that has caused my heart a ceaseless ache, 

And left my life-path sunless and bleak-blown, 
Is that I'm doomed to suffer for your sake; 

To suffer for no crime, no scarlet sin; 

Could it be wrong to love with passion true? 
I cast by worldly crowns your hand to win. 

And went through fires of hell for love of you. 

Should it be better I will not complain 

If you are happy in another's arms; 
Love is unselfish still, despite the pain 

My heart must know deprived thus of your charms. 

Decrees of Fate seem cruel and unkind. 

The gods ungrateful and to me most stern; 

I mingle oft in pleasure's throng but find 
Life's bitter cup of wormwood at each turn. 



24 



I've sought surcease where ocean waters roll 
And where the august mountains tower high, 

Yet grief returns which I cannot control 

And oft my wintry breast breathes forth a sigh. 

When love looked into love-returning eyes 
In those old fading vision-days we knew, 

Miraculous with gold were sunset skies, 

Now wrecked is every charm because of you — 

Wrecked in swift eddies of the wasted world. 

When mutely life's whole love went down that day, 

And dreams triumphant in its vortex whirled — 
Quaffed was the wine of tears and all was gray. 

The star of love shines wanly in eclipse; 

And hope no more my pulses quickeneth; 
But evermore shall burning, aching lips 

Yearn deeply for the cool sweet kiss of death. 

We love but once through all the stretch of years. 
Though friendship's chain may have a boundless 
sweep ; 

We give our smiles to some, to others, tears — 
The love of one is all we wish to keep. 

There lives no one but he desires to fold 
Some heart within his own forevermore; 

If we are sometimes sad and strangely cold 
It is because the days of love are o'er. 



25 



Not quite the same again the old world seems 
Robbed thus of youthful beauty and its bloom; 

Hope stands aloof and with our darkened dreams 
We onward plod — all reckless of our doom. 

Through all the lorn to-morrows I will hide 

My grief, complete each task the strange God set, 

E*er heedless that life's sands may quickly glide. 
And I will trust no future nor forget. 

Life's Tragedy is staged for you and me — 
We daily play our parts as actors, all; 

We all are captives striving to be free 

From Fate whose chains so cruelly enthrall. 

And we who miss life's passion, pure and grand, 
Who never know what love requited brings. 

Have only reached Contentment's border land 

Where gush for famished souls life-giving springs. 



26 



THE MESSAGE OF THE ROSE. 

The red rose you gave me has faded. 

Its petals are dropping apart. 
But I gather them all together — 

They remain ever dear to my heart, 
Just as if they were still fresh and pretty, 

And yet held their perfume so rare. 
For they bring back again that May morning 

You wore them entwined in your hair. 

Our rustic-seat stands there no longer 

'Neath the boughs of the old walnut tree, 
And the gate has since dropt from its hinges 

Where we stood when you gave it to me ; 
How well your last words I remember! 

I repeat them again with a sigh: 
"This rose is my heart's dearest message; 

It may fade but my love cannot die." 

Sometimes, when alone in the gloaming. 

Love comes anew, youthful and strong. 
From its tomb where 'twas long ago buried. 

And my sad world is thrilled with a song; 
Then this rose in a passion of perfume 

Breathes again of the past and of you. 
Bringing back the old love that is deathless 

To my heart — which remains ever true. 



27 



ON SUCH A NIGHT. 

On such a night 

The stars shone bright 

0*er fields and hills of sparkling snow; 
The saffron moon 
Arose, and soon 

The fitful winds all ceased to blow; 
'Twas by the sea 
You stood with me 

When first we loved, that crystal night- 
Just you and I 
Beneath the sky — 

The happy world ne'er seemed so bright! 

On such a night. 

How sweet the light 
Streamed o'er the sea, one year ago! 

Now hand in hand 

Again we stand; 
About us lies the sparkling snow; — 

It seemed to me 

No night could be 
So fair here by the sleeping sea;— 

Thy heart is mine. 

My heart is thine, 
My love, and shall forever be! 



28 



On such a night 

My heart beat light; 
Although the world was hushed in snow, 

'Twas sweeter far 

Than nights that are 
Born when mild summer breezes blow; 

Like burning brands 

Our clasp of hands 
Love's flame then kindled in my breast, 

And since that night 

When stars shone bright 
The happy world is full of rest ! 



29 



JUNE. 

Love reigns o'er earth to-day with song; — 
Ah, look ! glad June comes up the world 

With flowers strewn along her path 
And burnished, beryl skies unfurled. 

The odors of the velvet-rose 

Are drifting by like freighted dreams, 
And all earth wakes with life and joy. 

Dear heart, for you and me, it seems. 

And what care we for crowded marts 
Where busy throngs are mad for gold? 

We are content with naught to do — 
With June's resplendent skies unrolled. 

The sweet delirium of June 

Throbs through the veins of earth to-day, 
And ev'ry being's heart is thrilled 

With piercing buoyant ecstasy. 

The mocking-birds chant madrigals, 

The white wind-flowers breathe and blow, 

And sunbeams dance on tuneful brooks 
That from the verdant hillsides flow. 

There's nothing left for us to do. 
My love, but to be glad to-day; 

Dear Mother Nature, kind and true. 
Takes all the cares of life away. 



30 



SEPTEMBER IN THE OZARKS. 

With pale pink morning-glories swinging in the breeze, 
With golden tides of sunshine ebbing through the trees, 
With each wood warbler softly chanting its last tune; 
With autumn troubadours, the crickets, all acroon, 
September throws a parting kiss. 

With white clematis woven in her auburn hair. 
With wreath of rue upon her lily forehead bare. 
With fragrant honeysuckle clinging to her shroud. 
With drifting thistle-down like fleecy cirrus cloud, 
September waves a fond adieu. 

Where gentle streams have caught the blueness of the 
skies. 

Where through the pearl-gray haze the somber mount- 
ains rise. 

Where far up in the clouds the circling buzzard sails; 

Where chinquepins and buckeyes ripen in the vales, 
September bids the world farewell. 

^Mid dainty fern leaves fondled by the wooing frost, 
'Mid dust from goldenrods by wanton breezes tost, 
'Mid densest cloudy clusters of swaying grape-vine 

bowers, 
'Mid festoons frailly fair of ghostly pale moon-flowers, 
September turns to say good-by. 



31 



Where white moths flutter by the garden's moss-grown 
walk, 

Where stands on pastures bare the lonely mullen stalk; 

Where darts the dragon-fly and swoops the whip-poor- 
will, 

Where clustered burry chestnuts strew the wind-swept 
hill, 
September's last footfall is heard. 

Before the Moon of Falling Leaves has drifted dim, 
Before the last tint fades from gentian's sky-blue rim; 
Before the torch-light pageant of the sassafras, 
Before the russet pecan carnival shall pass, 
September fondly lingers still. 

Where fades the mountain-pink and droops the golden- 
glow. 

Where wild-flags silent stand in mournful marshes low. 

When winds chant threnodies through darkling forests 
drear— 

With hectic flush of sumac, nightshade for her bier, 
September folds her hands and dies. 



32 



WHEN YOU CAME HOME. 

When you came home I touched your lips of fire — 

Forgotten were the rarest charms of earth; 
What else could life hold claiming my desire? 

Then was the time of purple lilacs' birth; 
The lark soared up to tell the smiling sun, 

His throat thrilled with his joyous passion song; 
The strains of summer winds had then begun, 

And bees to meadow lands began to throng, 

When you came home the jonquils glowed anew; 

To greet you orchard trees burst into bloom; 
The brooks sang all the merry songs they knew; 

The soft skies had forgot their winter gloom; — 
Then wildly leaped my pulses and my heart 

Longed nevermore in other climes to roam — 
It plighted troth with bliss — pledged ne'er to part, 

And throbbed with youth again — when you came home ! 



33 



JUANITA. 

To a little Southern village, standing by the sunny sea, 

Is the place my dreams are drifting night and day, 
For I know the fair Juanita is still waiting there for me — 

Ever constant whether skies are blue or gray; 
Now in fancy looms the old home where I left her long 
ago— 

How my lonely heart longs for her more and more. 
Where the honeysuckle clambers and the sweet mag- 
nolias grow, 

Where the fragrant jessamine hangs o'er her door ! 

In that quaint old Southern village happy were youth's 
golden hours. 
Love was in the sunshine and the hum of bees 
When Juanita wandered with me out among the flaunt- 
ing flowers. 
Or we gathered shells beside the opal seas; — 
Oft my heart is touched with sadness, dreaming of those 
pleasant days, 
Moments filled with rapture, gone like youth, too soon; 
Ever to that dear old homestead memory so fondly 
strays, 
Bringing back her love-lit eyes and life's sweet June. 



34 



Softly irom that sea-shore village comes the music of 
those days, 
Throbs a rippling stream of melody sublime, 
Like the low-linked sweetness which from harp of fairy 
strays, 
Or is heard the swells and peals of some dear chime; 
Strains of mocking-birds and thrushes from the tall old 
poplar trees, 
Songs Juanita sang to me, so sweet and rare; 
And in fancy comes the rhythmic beat of those bright 
swinging seas — 
Stealing from my life its undernote of care. 



35 



TO MY MOTHER. 

Now that old age has bound you with his fetters, 

And left long furrows in your brow of care ; 
Although he's bent you with the weight of winters, 

And left his snowy traces in your hair, 
You are to me the fairest and the dearest 

That this or any other world can hold, 
And while you still remain on earth to love me 

My life will keep its sunshine's rarest gold. 

When vv^eary with life's burdens and its crosses. 

And heart sick at the cruel ways of men, 
I've ever turned to you for words of comfort 

You never failed to cheer my bosom then; 
So I will not forsake you while you linger. 

And totter on the brink of your last home; — 
Where'er on earth my restless footsteps wander 

Back to your side I ever long to roam. 

How could I bear to think of you deserted 

And left to pine away your days alone 
In cheerless solitude, my duties shrinking; 

With no companions of the days long flown — 
With no strong arm your sinking age supporting, 

With no one near to soothe your griefs and fears ?- 
I'll sacrifice the world, its wealth and pleasure. 

To smooth the pillow of your failing years. 



36 



SUNSHINE FOLLOWS RAIN. 

The sky is o'erclouded with darkness so dense 

That never a bright ray of sunlight may pierce 
Night's mantle of ebony, awful, intense, 

Dropt downward at noonday; while blustering fierce 
The wild winds are reckless in fury and rage; 

The big, icy waterdrops trample the plain; 
But His hand the storm's anger at last will assuage, 

And the life-giving sunshine will follow the rain. 

So I know that the gloom hanging over my soul, 

Which shuts cut the light of fond hope's guiding star. 
Whence arises the fear that I cannot control; 

And never a bright gleam is seen from afar. 
Will at last pass away, and far brighter will be 

The blue skies I love, so I'll never complain 
Of the deepening shadows that drift over me. 

For I know that the sunshine will follow the rain. 

In life's dark December we often repine, 

Rebel at the winter that comes to the heart; 
But we should take courage and look for a sign 

From the fair, blushing South when the snowdrops 
shall start; 
For the rose-petaled lips of the warm, loving May 

Are pouting to kiss and to banish each stain 
On the opaline sky, and to make the earth gay 

In the sunshine which evermore follows the rain. 



37 



I say that a time comes to you and to me. 

Comes sooner or later to each and to all. 
When we must go down to our Gethsemane 

And quaff to its dregs the deep chalice of gall ; 
Though the night will be dark by this fountain of tears, 

And the heart may recoil from its sickening pain, 
From its depths will come strength for the rest of life's 
years, 

And the bright, cheering sunshine will follow the rain. 



38 



BEFORE WE MET. 

Life's pathway wound through dreary Ajalon 

Before we met; — youth's dreams were all of you; 
I was impatient till each day was gone 

That failed to bring my heart's ideal to view, 
Which thrilled me, filled me with a mad desire, 

As noiseless zephyrs stir the aspen bough; 
At last I've found you and my heart's afire— 

At beauty's sacred shrine I worship now. 

At last I've found the object of my dream — 

My soul's full flood now rushes unto you, 
As, seeks the placid sea, some mountain stream; 

The gray within my sky has changed to blue; — 
Your advent in my life had been foretold 

By spring's sweet orchis and the summer's rose, 
By autumn's golden splendors all unrolled. 

And e'en by winter's skies and sparkling snows. 

I loved sweet Nature's voices, fields and flowers, 

But they are sweeter with you near, dear heart, 
To swell the chorus of full-throated hours: — 

The lily pure is but your counterpart; 
You are the one delight of all my days; 

My spirit with spring's ardent life is blent ; 
Earth has no largess sweeter than your praise — 

With you beside me, love, I am content ! 



39 



TO A BUTTERFLY IN THE CITY. 

I wonder what brings you from flowering hills, 
Away from the fields and the woodlands so fair. 

Away from your haunts by the cool, shady rills. 
Where Summer's exhaling the sweet, balmy air? 

Why did you hearken to sounds that are here. 
Where the air is polluted with odors of death? 

You are too fair and too frail to appear 

In the streets of the city's fierce, hot throbbing breath. 

For none in the throngs that are here rushing by 
Would care should your bright wings be crumpled and 
torn; 

Where lost is the life of a man, yet no sigh 

To the pitying heaven you came from, is borne. 

Thus, caught in this vortex of folly and grief 

Are souls, that like you, have been lured by the glare, 

The will-o'-the-wisp whose existence is brief; 

Soon they withering fall where the false beacons flare. 



40 



LOSS. 

When the shadows of twilight were falUng, 

And the children were leaving their play, 
Where they'd romped in the shade of the lindens 

Through the hours of a long summer day, 
A golden-haired darling still lingered 

And wistfully looked down the lane. 
Unheeding the shouts and the laughter 

And the slow warning drops of the rain. 

His play-things were tossed in the corner — 

The toys that could please him no more; 
In his weary eyes bright tears had gathered — 

Showed the sorrow his little heart bore. 
In his own childish way he was telling 

How he longed for a dear mother's care — 
Just to hold him at night by the fireside, 

And her love and caresses to share: 

"For a child and its mother were straying 

By the trees where our play-house was spread, 
And her face was all beaming with kindness; 

Then I heard the soft words that she said. 
IVe no mother to lead me or pity, 

Or to rock me to sleep on her breast; — 
I have lost her somewhere and I'm lonely — 

That's why I don't play with the rest." 



41 



AUGUST. 

The dust-drooped bushes stand beside the road 

That winds along the meadows, brown and dry; 
While in the brook's bed where but lately flowed 

A wildly gushing stream, the butterfly. 
With gorgeous wings half-oped, rests there serene 

Upon the moist dark ground in nooks of shade. 
Near where some sunbeam frescoes mosses green, 

And rainbows formed where once leaped the cascade. 

The weary hours plod by with leaden feet 

While Nature slumbers 'neath a wizard's spell; 
The drowsy bumblebees seek their retreat; 

The birds are mute, far in the stilly dell 
Where sylvan sounds and scents are strangely faint; 

The silk-soft hollyhocks, moon-tinted bloom; 
And, 'neath the trees where crows make their com- 
plaint 

The asters stand with dreamy eyes of gloom. 

Yon fields of golden tasseled corn, where strays 

No fresh'ning breeze among their with'ring blades, 
Stretch out beneath the sun's fierce, torrid rays: — 

Now comes a sweet cool breath from out the glades 
Just when each gasping plant seems death to woo; 

A shadow spreads its wings, and o'er the plain 
And hill all Nature hastens to renew 

Her green robes in the life-restoring rain. 



42 



SATISFIED. 

Love is enough for me to-day, my sweet; — 
With you beside me all the world's a dream 

Of rarest magic melody, for when 
I look into your eyes of jet I seem 

To feel the thrill of some immortal fire. 

And life flows on a sparkling summer stream. 

I do not care to taste of future joys, 
I do not sigh for other worlds beyond; 

The days that are to come can never hold 

To me a time than this more sweet, more fond, 

When for me are your deepest sighs of love, 
And all your heart-strings unto mine respond. 

Remind me not of days gone by, my sweet. 
They never knew the joys that now we know: 

I say no moments in youth's golden hours. 

That time when hearts are first with love aglow. 

E'er held the glory of our world to-day — 
Dear heart, I sigh not for the long ago. 

I know not where my course shall wend, my sweet, 
Nor does it matter if through gloom alway: 

The day of bliss divine will pass too soon. 
And all to dust and gloom will fade away. 

Except the thought that you now love me, sweet — 
Love is enough— I ask no more to-day. 



43 



A ROSE FROM CORINTH. 

(Written upon receiving' a wild rose from the battlefield of 
Corinth, Mississippi, where James Redmond Mitchell, uncle of the 
author and an officer in the Confederate Army, was killed.) 

Just a rose from the field of Corinth, 

Where the sweet magnolias grow. 
Where the muscadine clings to the cypress 

And the pink oleanders blow; 
But it brings to my mind a picture 

Of the hills in their stately grace 
As they bask 'neath the skies of turquoise 

In that dear old famous place. 

Just a rose from the field of Corinth, 

But it speaks of a day that is dead, 
When the vaunted hosts in battle met 

And the streams with blood ran red; 
When the pines on the high bluffs trembled 

To the roar of the shot and shell. 
When the bravest soldiers of this fair land 

Rallied, and charged, and fell! 

Just a rose from the field of Corinth, 

Where it grew by a blasted tree 
That stood in the path of a canister. 

And waved its proud crest free; * 
It bears in its fragrant bosom 

A message of peace and cheer — 
An emblem of love and affection 

That is growing from year to year. 



44 



Just a rose from the field of Corinth, 

But it fills my eyes with tears, 
For I think of the hearts still shadowed 

That have waited for years and years 
For those who went down in the battle 

In a cause they believed was right; — 
They'll answer again to the roll-call 

On the fields by the River of Light. 

Just a rose from the field of Corinth, 

Where all is at peace once more. 
With the gentle sunshine streaming 

The hills and the woodlands o'er; 
And it pleads for a peace still broader 

In the land that we love so well. 
While we cherish the names of the heroes 

Who at Corinth fought and fell. 



45 



SLOWER MUSIC FOR THE SOLDIERS. 

(Read at the national reunion of the Grand Army of the 
Republic at Minneapolis, Minnesota, August 15, 1906, when the 
Commander-in-Chief issued orders for slow march music while 
the veterans were on parade.) 

Let the music be slow for the soldiers 

Who are laggardly passing to-day; 
They have come from the mart and the hamlet 

And the hills that are far, far away; 
Some are here from the South's rolling prairies; 

From the land of the vast Northern pine ; 
They have come from the East and the Westland 

To form once again in the line. 

Let the music be slow for the soldiers 

And the measure not lively nor gay, 
For he's bent with the weight of long winters — 

The soldier who marches to-day; 
His footsteps are leaden and weary, 

His bearing is martial no more; 
Gone the gleam from his eyes of youth's valor, 

But his spirit is true as of yore. 

Let the music be slow for the soldiers 

As they file by again in review; 
How the columns grow thinner and thinner — 

Their companions of youth now so few! 
Still they're bearing their banner so proudly 

And they follow their leader so bold. 
Keeping time to the music, but slower. 

As they did in the brave days of old. 



46 



Let the music be slow for the soldiers; 

Strike no chord of the war notes they knew 
When they stormed up the Kenesaw Mountain, 

Crossed the Rapidan's waters so blue, 
Faced the foe in the battle of Fair Oaks, 

And fought by the swift Tennessee; 
Nor the music they heard at Cold Harbor, 

Nor the strains as they marched to the sea. 

Let the music be slow for the soldiers, 

Play the airs that the veterans love. 
Till they hear the clear notes of reveille 

Ringing out from the campground above ; 
Till they dream their last dream *neath the banner 

They have fought for and cherished so long; 
Let them live over days that are perished. 

Reviving the past with a song. 



47 



THE CALL OF APRIL. 

I heard a voice call in the wistful April 

When all the land was sweet with sun and rain, 

And straightway leaped the sap through veins of willow 
And sprang the buds on apple trees again; 

The earth awoke from her deep winter's sleeping, 
From her fair dream of waving fields of grain. 

The happy brook shook off the frost's strong tether 
And leaped o'er golden sands with silver shoon; 

The redbud on the old gray hill stood blushing. 

And frogs in marshes low laughed 'neath the moon; 

From out their beds then peeped the timid flowers ; 
The old pine tree began a summer tune. 

I heard the call which made my heart beat faster, 
For Love went down the joyous, blooming way, 

And you and I, my dear, ne'er knew such rapture 
As came to us on that bright April day; 

The moments were so strangely sweet and tender. 
When all the fields foretold the skies of May. 

The wilding bee was for the clover searching. 

The lark longed for the meadows sweet with dew; 

The robin for its mate was loudly calling; 
The empty winds sighed for the ocean blue; 

The humming-bird sought for its nectared chalice — 
While my heart yearned just for the love of you. 



48 



GREED. 

Once in the joyous summer time 

When no stain marred the welkin blue. 
And winds and streams all ran to rhyme, 

The bees searched for the honey-dew. 
The brown and golden panniered bees 

Then mined and delved into the heart 
Of each sweet blossom on the trees, 

And from the rose's breast would dart 
Away with pollen-dust of gold 
To store secure in some stronghold; 
And one bee through its lust and greed 
Toiled on in efforts to succeed 
Until the day wore cool and late — 
The petals closed and sealed its fate; 
Wrapped in its shroud of gold it lay. 
Gold that it strove to bear away. 

Thus man lured on by lust for gold. 
At last may find a prison cold, 
Find that his greed for earthly gain 
Ends often in distress and pain; 
He risks his life, he risks his soul 
A little wealth to find, control. 
And then, all helpless, like the bee, 
He vainly struggles to be free; 
Wrapped in his gilded shroud at last 
He lies unloved when life is past. 



49 



IT IS BEST. 

Yes, it is best, no doubt, that we should part; 

King Reason is the ruler of the court; 
But Passion, the pretender, holds the heart, 

And to his Grace, scout Cupid, must report; 
With tearful eyes he comes, his arrows spent, 

And pleads, but vainly, for the cause that's lost; 
My breast, the battle-ground, with pangs is rent, 

My heart must pay the penalty, the cost. 

When I looked down into your eyes that day. 

Eyes like deep wishing-wells of heaven's blue, 
"I'm strong," I said. "You cannot steal away 

My heart;" but it at once went out to you. 
One night a little seed, brought by the wind. 

So ancient legends tell, sprang up a vine, 
Which, ere the dawn, a monarch oak entwined. 

So you have bound this struggling heart of mine. 

It is the best for both our sakes, I say. 

That I should leave you, never to return; 
Yes, we must part and go a separate way — 

The fire upon Love's altar must not burn; 
Yet, I've no doubt 'twill smolder on for years. 

At times its ashes gray will glow anew. 
And cause to overflow the fount of tears, 

But still, I feel, that we must say adieu. 



'Tis hard, indeed, although I know 'tis best;— 

Some things we give away 'twere sweet to keep; 
And tender wishes oft must be repressed. 

Some yearnings curbed in their wild onward sweep 
I know the time has come to give you up 

Because the Tyrant, Reason, says 'tis true; — 
I may not quaff again from pleasure's cup. 

Yet I will nobler be for loving you. 



51 



MUTATION. 

When we behold the ruthless hand of Time 

Despoiling all that's fair unto our eyes. 
The stately temple and the palace grand, 

And lofty monuments that pierce the skies, 
Upreared by man's ingenious art and skill, 

At last in heaps of ruins lying prone — 
With all their power and beauty in decay. 

We sadly muse upon the dead years flown. 

Those old dead years when mighty kings of earth. 

In stone, thought to perpetuate their fame; 
They built great walls and towers, but cruel Time 

Has laid them low, erasing each proud name; — 
Karnak, the Pyramids, the lordly Sphinx, 

Shall mingle with the desert's shifting sands — 
So everything shall pass, however great, 

That is created by man's puny hands. 

On Ilium's walls the blight of ages rests; 

A fierce hawk screams were laughed the Median 
queen ; 
The black bat flits and owls their dwelling make 

Where Rome's great Colosseum arches lean; 
The jackals hold wild orgies in the night 

Where palaces of Babylon once stood; 
Deep solitude reigns o'er the plain of Tyre — 

A desert lies where flourished Delphi's wood. 



52 



Where is fair Helen for whom kingdoms fell? 

Where dwells the sweet Francesca, falsely fond? 
O'er what great realm does Cleopatra rule? 

Where lives and loves the gentle Clarimonde? 
Reigns she no more, the strange Semiramis? 

Alas! on with'ring wings of simoons hurled 
Their lips, once passion red, are homeless dust, 

Their heart-wrecks are as drift-wood on the world! 

Gone are the bowers of the Cyclades 

Where Circe's magic swayed the hearts of men ; 
The isle where Sappho sang of deathless love, 

'Mid tropic seas, lies now a stagnant fen; 
And nevermore among her native hills 

The name of Guinevere is said or sung; — 
Memento iiiori read we on each tomb 

Of all the mighty since the earth was young. 

Where now is Nero, and where Rameses, 

Before whose might the world once homage paid? 
They rest secure far in the night of time — 

On them the years shall cast a deepening shade. 
Proud Syracuse, so long a nation's pride, 

Now lies a mass of ruins on the shore; 
Fair Carthage is all desolate and lone — 

The waves shall chant their dirge forevermore. 



53 



So cities that forget will ever fall; 

Where greed for gold and power rules the state, 
Or Pleasure reigns and Truth is cast aside, 

Into Charybdis by the hand of Fate 
Is drawn the petty gewgaws of a king, 

To teach the nations of a later day 
That Love must rule the court, the home, the mart, 

Or Avarice will gnaw the heart away. 

Some sigh to see the days of youth rush by. 

Some weep when those they long have loved depart. 
While others fain would linger in the past 

But duty presses on, and though the heart 
Be broken by vicissitude and fears, 

Adown the vale of years perchance there waits 
Far sweeter pleasures, more and dearer friends 

Than those within the past's relentless gates. 

Eternal Time, in elements of change 

Brings swift surcease from pain and grief's long night, 
And fuller blessings follow in his train — 

Forgetfulness removes each stain and blight; 
Oblivion heals error and remorse; 

Change drives the night of ignorance afar. 
And opens to the sanguine dreams of men 

New worlds led on by Truth's bright, holy star. 



54 



Supernal Nature ne'er forgets her trust — 

E'en worms may dream of wings and summer skies ; 
She warms the turtle's eggs within the sands, 

And to the chambered nautilus supplies 
Each year a fairer dwelling, and a home 

For each low creature of the earth and air; — 
Her changes and the rapid flood of years 

Are meant to fit man for a home more fair. 

We read the history of ages past 

Inscribed upon the rocks and know that man 
Stands on the topmost pinnacle of time; — 

Is he the last link in creation's plan? 
Ah, no ! there's one step from this house of clay. 

One transmigration to a higher plane — 
All else shall change and pass but Love and Truth, 

The soul all glorified — these shall remain. 



5£ 



TWO DREAMS. 

When the Angel of Dreams came down one night 

From the mystical skies overhead, 
As the world lay asleep 'neath the moon's mellow light, 

And stopped at my trundle-bed. 
The vision was strange that filled my brain 

And it made my young heart glad; 
Last night the same angel returned again, 

But it left me lonely and sad. 

For my dream was then of the days to be. 

Of the wonderful things afar. 
When the praise of the world came up to me. 

And I stood where the victors are; 
I had fought in the battle of life and had won, — 

I had tasted its joys and its love; 
I had store of rich gold from the lands of the sun; — 

That's the dream that came down from above. 

When in through the lattice a sunbeam crept 

And, kissing my sleepy eyes. 
The dream sped away that had come while I slept — 

Went back to the mystical skies; 
And I cried in vain for the things I had seen, 

For the manhood days it had brought. 
And the pain in my heart was cruel and keen. 

For gone was the vision I sought. 



56 



In the Valley of Dreams, as I wandered last night, 

I came to the old home place. 
And there in the shadows of the dim firelight 

I saw each familiar face; 
But the trundle-bed I had known of old 

Had been empty for years and years; 
Still over it rained the moonbeams' gold. 

And sometimes a fond mother's tears. 

I am sighing to-day for the dream that is flown — 

Gone back to the mystical skies. 
For I*m here in the world's weary battle alone, 

And a mist drifts over my eyes 
When I think how the things that the vision brought 

Are forevermore lost to me — 
They are gone like the dream which my childhood 
sought, 

And I face the unknown to be. 



57 



YOU AND OCTOBER. 

This is the season that we loved of old 

When here we lingered in the sunny hours; 
These vales still wear their robes of burnished gold 

And royal purple — autumn's fairest flowers; 
The same bright skies bend o'er us now as then — 

And for us still the same sweet breezes blow, 
So let us live the old days o'er again. 

And let the nectar of youth's cup o'erflow. 

For Time, who steals away our happy years 

And after rose-time brings the time of rue. 
May change the love-light in our eyes to tears. 

Reach forth his hand and bear me hence from you ;- 
So very far the home of Sorrow seems 

With you beside me, that I 'most forget 
That winging years can mar our blissful dreams 

To sordid hours of sadness and regret. 

But memory will evermore be kind 

And half the pleasures of the past renew. 
For skies are ne'er so dark but we may find 

A ray of light somewhere still piercing through ; 
And when the wintry air shall come to chill 

Your beauty's bloom, and change blue skies to gray, 
I'll think of you, yet young and happy still. 

As now you are this bright October day. 



58 



The coming year with tender touch will change 

This scene of autumn splendor all unrolled; 
But kindly recollection e'er will range 

Among these realms and bring to me their gold; 
And it shall steal away each unkind trace 

Of teardrops left by Sorrow's cruel hand, 
Then I shall see the sunshine of your face, 

And look into your eyes and understand. 

Then dream no more of future gloom, dear heart; 

These golden days bequeathed to you and me, 
We'll clasp and keep, nor let them e'er depart — 

No hour with you can e'er forgotten be ; 
The beauty of this sunlit autumn time 

Can never fade — my joys shall always last; 
Hope's star through future years will shine sublime. 

And bright-eyed Memory will gild the past. 



59 



OUT BY THE RIVER. 

Out by the river, the lone, winding river. 

There is the place where my heart longs to be; 

If I could dwell there forever and ever. 

Dreaming where clear skies could bend over me, 

I would be happy, where glossy leaves quiver, 
Lounging at will 'neath the drooped alder tree. 

Out by the river so quietly flowing 

By its green banks where the peaceful herds graze ; 
Foxgloves and cyclamen everywhere growing. 

Daisies and cowslips wherever you gaze 
Breathing their souls out in perfume and throwing 

Incense to you through the sweet summer days. 

Out by the river are brown thrushes singing 
Songs that are sweeter than Pan ever blew; 

There o'er the meadows are swift swallows winging; 
Bees in the clover beds drenched with the dew. 

Larks overhead, lost in light, ever flinging 
Rare bars of melody earthward to you. 

Out by the river — away from the city 

Where all that's heard is a harsh, jangled roar; 

Let's leave its cold hearts, its sad dearth of pity; — 
Out where fair Nature is true evermore, 

Crowned in blossom wreath so fresh and pretty. 
Teaching each trusting heart, her rarest lore. 



PARTING WORDS. 

His fond mother kissed him and said, "Good-by," 

As her sailor boy went to sea, 
Then her tears fell down like the rain from above 

And her grief was touching to see; 
But the only words that the old man said 

As he turned and tottered away 
On the cane that was held in his trembling hands, 

"May the Lord go with you to-day." 

For the old man's words had always been few. 

But each guest who had passed through his door 
Felt his old-time cheer, knew his blessing so kind. 

Which made lighter the sorrows each bore; 
And many a pilgrim had heard those words, 

Which was just his peculiar way. 
And onward they went with a stronger heart, 

"May the Lord go with you to-day." 

When they brought him home, slain in the fight at sea, 

Where, a hero, true and brave. 
He had saved the day, so his comrades said — 

Sent the foe to an ocean grave. 
The heart of his mother was broken with grief; 

Then we heard the old man say, 
As over his well-worn Bible he leaned, 

"May the Lord go with you to-day." 



61 



JUST TO BE NEAR YOU. 

Just to be near you, dear, that's all I ask. 

Because no other one can bring the cheer, 
The inspiration making light each task. 

And sweet contentment felt when you are near; 
No one can bring the hopes that bear me up, 

Can bring the sunshine and the song each day; 
No one with pleasure fill life's brimming cup, 

No one can keep the clouds, the fears away — 
No one but you, dear heart, no one but you ! 

Just to be near you, dear, to feel the thrill 

Of bliss divine that overwhelms the soul — 
To bask in those bright tender eyes until 

The heart is all enraptured, and the goal 
I seek seems nearer, farther off is care; 

A better, sweeter song I always sing; 
The flowers and the woodlands seem more fair. 

The whole world is more true — all these you bring 
When you are near, my sweet, when you are near ! 

Just to be near you, dear ; for you I long : 

Although kind words and favors I bestow 
On old friends and on new, and in the throng 

May give a smile to those who come and go — 
There is but one in all the great, wide land 

That I desire to fold within my heart 
And crown with Love's own wreath; — to clasp your 
hand, 

To call you mine would make all gloom depart. 
For my life knows no comforter but you! 



62 



HELEN HUNT JACKSON'S GRAVE. 

[Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado.'] 

In the opaline light of Aurora 

When the night-tapers flickered and died, 
I traversed the pine-scented canyon 

To the crags on a wild mountain side, 
Where the dust of a sweet voiced singer, 

'Neath the banners of morning unfurled. 
Rests among the gray rocks that she cherished. 

Rests secure from the shock of the world. 

'Tis the place for a sweet dreamless slumber 

When gone is the fever of life; 
For up in that stern, silent fortress 

Neither nature nor man is at strife; 
So I always shall love there to wander 

Where an amethyst glow tints the air 
And a Sabbath-like stillness is brooding 

O'er bastions of granite peaks fair. 

It is grand when the day-star is gilding 

All cloudland, an asphodel sea, 
Just to linger there, musing in wonder. 

At the elfin harps tuned in each tree; 
And to watch in the meadows of heaven 

Great laburnaums flare out in bloom, 
Till the moon, the hibiscus, ascending. 

Spreads her tender rays over your tomb. 



63 



And I say I shall nevermore wonder 

Your heart longed to rest there alone, 
After shadows of years, drear and sordid. 

Forever had scattered and flown; 
For you knew the great Author was nearer 

Far away in the solitude deep 
Where His children find rest on His bosom 

As He fondles and folds them to sleep. 



64 



FEBRUARY IN THE CASCADES. 

The fitful gusts speak in the tall dark firs; 

They sway snow-laden boughs in wailing tones; 
No human voice the canyon's echo stirs: 

Fierce coyotes howl in gulches o'er dry bones; 
The trackless snows have hid the old gray road 

That wound and climbed until yon height was won; 
The ice-bridged gorge marks where the swift stream 
flowed — 

The distant crests gleam in the low, bleak sun. 

Where clustered berries hung, so red and rare. 

Where grew the rock-moss and the thistle frail 
The wild goat finds naught but the lichen there 

And stunted sage-brush brown along the trail; 
Fresh tracks are seen about the cougar's lair; 

He prowls the barren cliffs in search of prey: 
Black vultures, circling, soar high in the air; 

The mountain sheep are bleating far away. 

The awe of coming night, so still and deep. 

Among these sphinx-like crags, austere and bold, 
Arouse vague fears which slowly o'er me creep. 

As darkness gathers, comes the new moon cold. 
And cheerless stars now trace the sky's black wall ; 

The sound of cracking trees, the wind's low moan 
Have cast a spell which holds my heart in thrall;— 

Here Winter, the grim King, has reared his throne. 
Mount Rainier, Washington, 1907. 



65 



THE PAST. 

Dwell not in the Past— it will never return 

To give us a chance all its errors to right; 
Although for the things that it holds we may yearn, 

It enfolds them and hides them in caverns of blight ; 
Its strong gates are barred and the warder is Fate, 

Who jealously guards every treasure it keeps, 
Never heeding the throngs that impatiently wait 

Nor noting the fact that the multitude weeps. 

Its shores were once washed by the moon-silvered waves, 

And the zephyrs were balmy that sighed through its 
groves ; 
Those shores are now bleak, and there lie in its caves 

The bones of a million wrecked hopes, and its coves 
Have entombed the love-ships that were lost on its reef; 

Dark waters are swirling where youth's idols sleep; 
Forever they mock all our anguish and grief; 

No weeping avails for its wrecks it will keep. 

So much has been lost in this sad world of ours 

No wonder from weary eyes hot tears are shed; 
For youth with its joys and its bright golden hours 

Alike, with the dear early friends, are all fled; 
They are gone, all are gone, but out of time's sweep 

We will find them again on the incoming tide, 
For all we have given the Lord, he will keep, 

And the love we've bestowed upon friends will abide. 



66 



Dwell not in the Past, for its deeds are all done; 

They cannot be changed now, although they were 
wrong ; 
There are many great victories yet to be won, 

And many sad hearts to be cheered with a song: 
Look up, look ahead, look away from the Past; 

Life's duties are pressing us on evermore; 
The height must be scaled although fierce is the blast, 

And seas must be crossed though the wild breakers 
roar. 

Let things of the Past that we failed in assist 

And aid us the better to look for the flaws. 
While giving us courage the wrong to resist; 

Where adversity blighted, it came for a cause. 
Dwell not in the Past — it were better to heed 

The call of the present and enter the fray; 
The dark Past is dead; — on its tomb we should read 

A lesson to strengthen and guide us to-day. 



67 



THE POOR CHILD'S CHRISTMAS. 

A fine lady lives on the corner, you know, 

Who often comes by where I play; 
She came out and kissed me and brushed off the snow 

When I fell on the sidewalk to-day; 
And she said she'd be glad I'd come over to-night — 

Yes, mamma, she said this to me: 
"I'll make for you, dear, our house cheery and bright. 

If you'll come to my Christmas tree. 

"I always had one for my own little girl — 

She had eyes and brown hair, just like you, 
Often wore on her forehead a similar curl. 

And her name was Marjorie, too; 
But I cannot give her a Christmas tree now. 

So it will be lonesome, you see. 
With no darling there — and, somehow 

I want you at my Christmas tree. 

"There'll be some new playthings and toys — all for you — 

Such dainties as sweet sugar-plum, 
A little pink tea-set, a dolly or two. 

And many nice things, if you'll come; 
And I will not mind if your apron is torn 

And soiled are your mittens and hood — 
Dear, you will have new ones to wear Christmas morn, 

Like all little girls that are good." 



68 



So she will not like me if I do not go, 

For she said that she would be sad; 
Her tree will be loaded with presents, I know, 

Like the one her little girl had. 
Old Santa Claus didn't come by last year — 

I'm afraid he'll again miss me; 
So may I go over to-night, mamma, dear. 

For she'll have such a nice Christmas tree? 



69 



ON THE OHIO RIVER. 

The breath of June made sweet the valley fair, 

Where by her hills the grand Ohio flows; 
The musk of ripened grain was in the air, 

The perfum.e of the clover and the rose; 
There was no ripple on the placid stream, 

And gently over all the full moon shone, 
While on, as idly as it were a dream. 

We drifted with the music's lilting tone. 

We left the noisy city far behind 

Where greed for wealth and pomp destroys the soul, 
And sought night's gentle spirit, there to find 

Peace, like an anodyne, descend to roll 
The shadows gray and dreary from our skies; 

We thought not of the throngs upon the shore — 
Content were we when in each other's eyes 

We looked and dreamed that all life's cares were o*er. 

Oh, this indeed, to us was Lotus-land, 

Where nothing comes man's happiness to mar, 
Where hearts may dwell and ever understand 

The bliss that comes from Aidenn's fields afar; 
And now, although the time is long since flown. 

Sweet memory is kind and brings to me 
Those happy June-tide hours which, when alone, 

Oft brighter make the scenes of life's rough sea. 



70 



And, dreaming here beside time's purling wave, 

I watch its petty baubles drifting by. 
For, oh, so faint, from where those waters lave, 

The breezes waft to me, when here they sigh, 
The odor faint and dear from those green hills 

Where lie the fields and happy homes of men; 
Then memory with joy my spirit fills. 

And bids me live that night in June again. 



71 



IN THE VALLEY OF THE YEARS. 

We strive life's broken idols to replace; — 

All through the world we go in fruitless quest 
For someone to fill up the vacant place 

Of one that's gone and left us this unrest; 
With every last farewell some heart-strings break; 

A friend's last footfall fills our heart with pain; 
When the last hand clasp comes our bosoms ache 

At thought that we may never meet again. 

How oft a parting word we linger o'er 

When solitude brings back our vanished years; 
And sadness comes whene'er we say, "No more," 

And oft our eyes are filled with unshed tears 
In thinking of the faces lost to view; — 

Death never took the breath of life away 
But some hope sank which never rose anew — 

Some life was overshadowed from that day. 

The years in vain may seek to heal the wound, 

And time strive bravely to make good the loss; 
Sometimes, when we forget, our pulses bound 

As buoyant as when life was free from dross; 
But yet we say, "Although new friends are kind 

And kindle once again the old-time flame. 
Not equal pleasure does the lone heart find — 

They may be better, but they're not the same." 



72 



Some hearts may break but they conceal the pain, 

They show the world an ever smiling face; 
Some, to conceal their sorrow strive in vain — 

It leaves upon their brow its furrowed trace; 
Some plunge into the maddening race for gold; 

Some spend their years in convents or like places ;- 
Loss makes some languish, others it makes bold 

Till death at last the chequered past erases. 

This is the common lot to which we're heir; 

A few short years of toil and loss and gain; 
A few brief days of joy and hope and care. 

Then all is over; — why should we complain? 
For Love divine rules the eternal forces. 

Sad souls shall quaff the nectar of delight; 
When darkling worlds forsake allotted courses 

The rosy dawn shall vanquish grief's long night. 



73 



SINCE I LOST YOU. 

Since I lost you I care no more 
To tread the paths I loved of old; 

The summer fields I knew before, 

The autumn woods with all their gold. 

Have lost the charm that once they knew. 

For all is changed since I lost you. 

Since I lost you I do not care 

Which way my life path leads along. 

For something's gone from earth and air 
That will not come again. No song 

From me the world henceforth shall woo. 

For all is lost in losing you. 

Since I lost you forever stays 

The ache my heart must always know — 
It is the same through genial Mays 

Or long Decembers of the snow. 
No more they beckon 'gainst the blue, 
The heights of fame, since losing you. 

Since I lost you my faith in truth. 
My hope in all the good to be. 

Are shattered like the dreams of youth; 
The days ahead hold naught for me — 

Old ties of friendship seem less true. 

For all is changed since losing you. 



74 



TO WAH-TA-WASO. 

(An Iroquois Maiden.) 

You are the bright star that your name implies; 

You fill life's night with beams all radiant; 
You are the star of hope within my skies, 

The star of splendor in my firmament; — 
When I am near your speaking, soulful eyes 

The base world fades afar — I am content. 

Bright Star! Hear me to-day, for Time's swift wings 
May swoop anear and bear you far from me, 

And drown the vows of love's fond murmurings; — 
My heart would break from emptiness of thee, 

Which now for love of you in rapture sings. 
And longs for you as, for the rose, the bee. 

So what care I if all the stars of light 

By which the ancients read their destinies, 

Should swing cold rayless orbs through realms of night, 
And sink in Seven Seas no more to rise; — 

My path to alien worlds would still be bright. 
For I would have the glory of your eyes! 
Lake Coeur d'Alenc, Idaho, 1907. 



75 



OUR LOVED AND LOST. 

Our loved and lost, for whom we often pine 
When thinking of their sojourn with us here; 

We long just for a token or a sign 

Of recognition from their mystic sphere; 

We know it not, but near their faces shine 

When life is filled with shadows and with fear. 

Say not that they to us are wholly lost — 

They walk with us to guide our steps aright; 

When peace is flown and we are tempest tost 
Or, clouds of doubt arise our hopes to blight, 

Then come they who have death's cold river crost— 
We feel them near though lost to mortal sight. 

On summer nights when languid hours roll by. 
And, tremulous with stars, the Milky Way 

Bends o'er us while we bow beneath the sky 

With breaking hearts above some cherished clay, 

These friends then see our tears and hear us sigh— 
They are so near and yet so far away. 

When trees in autumn rain their yellow leaves 
Upon the withered fields, a beauteous shower, 

When sounds are dull upon the fitful breeze. 
And in the cheerless garden blooms no flower. 

Our heart-strings are then vibrant unto these. 

Our loved and lost— we feel their soothing power. 



76 



When winter twilight falls from weeping skies, 
When o'er the barren hills the bleak winds moan, 

We think of the departed, and our eyes 
Are dim with tears as we sit here alone; 

To call them back deep yearnings ever rise, 

But they are near — our love and lost — our own. 

They come back to the scenes they loved of old. 
They sit with us around our empty hearth; 

They talk with us, our hands they gently hold, 

Then tender dreams and noble thoughts have birth; 

Their love for us shall nevermore grow cold; — 
Their spirits are abroad upon the earth. 



77 



IF YOU COULD UNDERSTAND. 

If you could understand how all the day 
The sungold in its shimmer, dazzling shine 

Still fails to drive from earth the gloom away, 
I know you would not spurn this love of mine, 

Would not deny my soul its peace and light; — 

Without your love the world is blackest night. 

If you could understand how burning tears 

Forever in my dreams arise and flow, 
Which proves that I am faithful through the years 

To all the love you gave me long ago, 
I think you would a little pity feel 
And softer grow your heart, which seems of steel. 

Could you but understand how just a tear, 

A little sigh or faintest smile to show 
That you still think of me, each coming year 

More sunshine and more song would surely know-— 
My heart, though breaking, ever worships you; 
Would you not pity if you only knew? 



78 



LONGING. 

I am longing to-night to be there — 

In the old home that I miss, 
Just to hear the lisp of the little ones 

And to share their good-night kiss; 
My old mother is waiting to greet me 

As she lists for my step at the door; 
Though her ears are now failing I*m certain 

She would hear me and meet me once more. 

I am longing to-night to feel them — 

A pair of soft arms at the gate 
When the long, tiresome journey is ended 

And I meet those who there for me wait; 
Just to know there is someone who loves me 

Longs to clasp me again by the hand. 
Feel the thrill of the quickening heart-beat, 

See the teardrops that I understand. 

I am longing to leave it forever — 

The city where folly, deceit. 
And hearts that are cruel and ctmning 

Are concealed by the many I meet; 
Where most smiles are but masks for frowning, 

Where the false has o'ershadowed the true, 
Where the soul becomes shriveled and blighted. 

And friends that are loyal so few. 



79 



I am longing once more to taste them — 

The joys that the old home can give 
Where it rests in the arms of the wildwood;- 

With home folks again let me live, 
And sleep at the end of lifers journey 

Out there where 'tis quiet, some day. 
Where, far from the throngs of the city, 

I'll be missed and remembered alway. 



80 



THE SWEETEST THOUGHT. 

Sweet is the thought that some day we shall know 

Why 'round our hearth a darling plays no more; 
Why at our threshold drifts the deep'ning snow, 

While spring is wooing roses by some door; 
Why we must journey through drear Ajalon, 

When paths of others lead through Arcady; 
Why we must sigh and suffer on and on, 

When others find no ripples on life's sea. 

Sweet is the thought that some day we shall rest — 

No more the heart-wreck or the troubled brain. 
At last a calm for ev'ry stormy breast — 

No more the keen and cutting blade of pain; 
That age shall live its happy May-time o'er; 

That all will be forgiven, reconciled. 
When fades the home lights on this darkling shore. 

And each shall trusting go, just like a child. 

But sweeter is the thought that as we go 

Adown the valley of the somber years 
A hidden Hand sustains us, which we know 

Will change to dimpled joys all trace of tears; 
That through these weary, clanging, iron days 

Where love is blind and some paths sought too late. 
To check our waywardness His hand He lays 

And makes us all the masters of our fate. 



81 



Then let us bear with all our petty strife, 

And put life's paltry baubles all aside: 
For, like a dream forgot, the woes of life 

Will vanish, mere cloud-shadows on the tide, 
When comes His promised peace with early light 

In answer to each worthy blessing sought; — 
That He will guide our wanton feet aright 

Through life's perplexing maze — sweet is the thought. 



82 



FORGOTTEN. 

[After the Japanese.^ 

Those hours with you and June, my own, 

When heaven's splendor 'round us lay, 
Upon the tranquil lake alone, 

Just rowing, drifting far away 
We knew not whither, neither cared; 

Your love-lit eyes with tears were wet; 
The day's delirium we shared — 

Ah, I've forgotten to forget! 

On Love's smooth sea we were afloat, 

Beneath the tender tropic skies. 
Without a pilot for our boat, 

Which seemed adrift in Paradise; 
And not one sorrow did we know. 

Behind we left all care and fret; 
Although 'twas very long ago 

I have forgotten to forget. 

From hills of bloom a soft breeze blew; 

All things were drunk with summer's wine; 
There seemed to live no one but you 

And I that day, and you were mine; 
For Love, the King, ruled everywhere — 

He filled my veins with fire, my pet! 
That time has been, ah, many a year — 

But I've forgotten to forget! 



83 



No longer are we one, my heart, 

We're cleft asunder by our woe; 
We are divided and apart, 

And thus estranged we two must go, 
The heart of me goes back, my own; 

My feet go down a path thick set 
With long gray days whose sunshine's flown, 

For I've forgotten to forget. 

'Tis ever questing for the same 

Wherever I may go or turn; 
I always feel the old-time flame 

Within my darkened bosom burn; 
And still I wait my love to greet 

As in the days when first we met — 
All else have I forgotten, sweet! — 

I've e'en forgotten to forget. 

When night is come I long for day. 

When morning dawns I would 'twere night— 
Time will not take my pain away; 

The dull hours loiter in their flight ; 
But somewhere in the realms of space 

My soul will find you, hold you yet, 
Enshrined in June's sweet, tender grace 

Which I've forgotten to forget. 



84 



ALL IN THE END WILL BE RIGHT. 

Against fate we are prone to rebel 

When intrudes bitter care on our hearts, 
And tears to our weary eyes well 

When life's sweetest blessing departs; — 
A purpose they often conceal, 

If only "we look 'neath the blight; 
God's presence they ever reveal, 

And all in the end will be right. 

From seeds of remorse in the breast 

Springs a harvest with goodness replete; 
For the plans of the Master are best, 

And our own should be laid at His feet; 
His love oft to us seems reproof. 

But our will with His own should unite 
In weaving the soul's varied woof. 

And all in the end will be right. 

Down the vale of the years lies in wait 

Gethsemane*s garden of pain — 
Yet its fears should but serve to elate. 

Though fiercely an arrowy rain 
From grief's ebon clouds may come down; 

For we know after darkness of night 
God's smile will replace every frown, 

And all in the end will be right. 



85 



There*s no doubt but we'll know why, some day, 

Death's wormwood was mixed with life's wine. 
And why someone we loved went away 

And left us alone to repine; 
Then we'll see wherein God's way was best. 

And how gently the shafts of His light 
Touched the storm-clouds that raged in the breast, 

And how all in the end came out right. 



86 



fiOV 9 t909 



L'ENVOL 

Fair Flora has gathered her roses and fled, 

But the May sun will woo them again from their bed, 

Give them back to Queen Summer, who, losing them, 

wept, 
And their eyes will be brighter because they have slept. 

A great star is sinking into the imknown 

And quenched are its beams that so radiantly shone; 

But the dawn's brilliant harbinger it will arise 

And lead the bright pageant through palpitant skies. 

The pleasure-thronged Junes of our childhood are o'er, 
And the loves of our yesteryears sigh here no more ; 
They paused, looking backward and passed from our 

view. 
And they've lost their way back to the scenes they once 

knew. 

But the Power that quickens the buds in their sleep 
And is guiding the great orbs in their far trackless sweep 
Will keep love in our hearts till we clasp hands again — 
So, we bid you good-by and good-night until then. 



87 




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